


Residential Care

by manhattan



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Eating Disorders, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Implied Mental Issues, M/M, Self-Destruction, Spoilers up until the LP, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 17:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manhattan/pseuds/manhattan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Aren’t you glad I’m a patient guy, Hinata-kun?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Residential Care

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know why I like to see Komaeda in self-destructive scenarios. Maybe because it fits so well?
> 
> This won’t be the last time I write him like this.

Komaeda sunk deeper into the mattress, into the blankets and the pillows, until he looked like he was being swallowed. He wasn’t trying to, that was the worst part. Hinata forced himself to look at him, really _look_ , not just glance. He felt like throwing up, or something, really, _where is the nearest garbage can?_ He didn’t. He looked at Komaeda in silence because he didn’t know what to say. Well, no. Everyone’s worried about you, was what Hinata wanted to say, but he didn’t; not because he was afraid his voice would crack, or because he was afraid it would become a lie the second it left his lips, but because he couldn’t. He was shivering, maybe, not really, he couldn’t tell, but he felt like he was trembling, maybe because it was the polite thing to do.

Hinata had never thought he would attempt to breach politeness.

He was looking at his knees, now, at the way his hands pressed harder against the bone, like they were trying to reach out for something, and he realized he hadn’t even noticed looking away from Komaeda. It was so easy to pretend he wasn’t half-asleep, in limbo. It would be so easy to get up and walk away, pretend to forget about cabin number four counting from the top. He didn’t wonder why he didn’t, slightly afraid, slightly repulsed.

Between the covers, Komaeda’s body lifted, as he took a deep breath. His room had been aired, the windows open in the morning to let the sun and the sea breeze in, but it still had an underlying smell. He’d never been to a nursing home, but he thought it would—that it had to smell like this. Like death hiding behind a tired smile. He thought it would. He brought his fingers to his mouth, splintering his nails with his teeth, while his other hand kept on worrying his knee. Why won’t you eat, he thought, teeth grinding. Do you want to die this badly? Is this just a plot to make me kill you? I won’t give you the pleasure. Neither will anyone else. I won’t let you win.

Komaeda breathed in again, his clear, insipid eyes turning toward Hinata. They’d always looked like a shirt that had been washed too many times, something that had lost its color, but recently they had shifted from old fabric to emptiness, the bottom of a bucket, the color of a hospital ward. He flinched, pulling his fingers away, pretending not to notice the broken nails, the pinkish tone underneath them.

The silence hung heavy between them, unloaded of meaning, heavy with nothing but tension, and he wanted to hit Komaeda, wanted to throttle him, to put his hands around his skinny neck, press into those jutting collarbone, watch the life escape through his closed throat, gritted teeth, widened eyes, maybe a smile. Shit, Hinata thought, shit, shit, _shit_ —

“I’m sorry for burdening you.”

He did not reply.

“Why won’t you kill me?”

Hinata turned his attentions away, pretending to think that the wall of Komaeda’s cabin was the single most interesting thing in the world, that everything was fine as long as that wooden wall remained there, keeping Komaeda away from him, away from the rest of them.

“I do hope you die,” Hinata finally said, completely unsurprised to find that he meant it.

“It would give me no greater pleasure than to die by your hand,” Komaeda said, sounding like a teenage girl in love, or like Romeo at the sight of Juliet, only Juliet was death and Romeo was a self-destructive piece of shit and god, Hinata hated him so, so much. He did. But not enough to kill him. Or maybe enough to deny him his final wish. That was probably it.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied, running his hands across his face, down his cheeks, pressing his fingers into his eyes. His nails scraped against his brow, uneven. “That’s why I won’t do it, maybe.”

Komaeda smiled, leaning back onto the pillow someone like Sonia or Tsumiki had fluffed out for him (Hinata would never), looking not smug but patient.

“I can wait.”


End file.
